A Proportional Response
by lovablegeek
Summary: S1 - Yvonne wasn't even supposed to be here today, but certain things will derail your plans. Like alien crash landings, the explosion of Downing Street, and Harriet Jones. - One shot


Yvonne was not supposed to be here today. It was _supposed_ to be a quiet, pleasant day in the office, and then a spacecraft had to go and crash into the Thames. Well, that was Torchwood for you. Even with that, she normally would have _still_ been in office - send out a response team, monitor them from the tower, not a problem.

The combination of a confirmed Code 9 and the death of the scientific advisors - some of which had been _hers_ - rather took today out of the normal course of events.

So did the explosion of Downing Street, for that matter.

The concussion wave rocked the street, vibrating in her chest as she ducked. A couple of the men from UNIT grabbed her and pulled her down, shielding her with their bodies - somewhat unnecessary, but at least they were well-trained and polite while manhandling her. Down the street, past the ringing in her ears, she heard a dull roar of collapsing brick and mortar, tumbling down and spilling into the street, a cloud of dust and smoke billowing out before it.

Yvonne shook off the soldiers as soon as she decided it was unlikely she would be brained by flying debris, a couple of her own armed men moving to flank her as she did. Seeing the wreckage, she drew a breath, and then had to fight not to fall over coughing after catching a lungful of dust.

"Who," she asked, between coughs, "fired a missile at Downing Street?"

"We're looking into it, ma'am," one of the men from UNIT offered. Nice of him, though he may have already known Torchwood would get the information one way or another. Under other circumstances, she'd have to stop to get his name, but just now...

Just now, she realised, she was more concerned by the woman walking out of the dust and smoke, waving her arms and shouting something Yvonne couldn't quite make out. For a second, Yvonne thought she saw another couple figures behind her, people whose faces she couldn't quite make out, but she blinked and they faded away into the smoke.

She shook her head, refocused on the woman and wondered how she could have survived the blast anyhow. Now that she was closer, she could hear what the woman was saying, assuring them that everything was all right. Yvonne smiled faintly to herself and stepped past the cordon UNIT was attempting to set up, walking smoothly ahead of the soldiers moving to intercept her.

"My name's Yvonne Hartman," she said, with a warm smile as she reached her. "You're not hurt, are you? We have medical personnel on hand..."

"Just a little bruised," the woman said, and patted the pockets of her rumpled suit for a moment before coming up with identification. "Harriet Jones, MP for Flydale North."

Yvonne's smile flickered a little, from warm to quietly bemused. "Then you'd be the highest ranking government official I've managed to contact today. Can we speak privately?"

* * *

It had taken some time to extract Harriet from the tangle of soldiers and reporters and television cameras, even with the weight of Torchwood to throw around. Yvonne returned to the office while she was busy, and left Marcus to escort Ms. Jones to the building whenever she was ready. Again, hardly normal procedure, but given the kind of day it had been, Yvonne was more or less prepared to throw normal procedure to the wind for just this one day.

Harriet Jones was indeed bruised, as she had said. As she stepped into Yvonne's office, she couldn't help but notice the raised bump above one eye, slightly reddish purple under the bright flourescent lights. Not bad for riding out an explosion - in a cabinet, if what Yvonne had heard so far on the news reports was to be believed. Not bad at all.

"I know it's been a long day for you - you're probably exhausted," she said, motioning Harriet to a chair. She dropped into it with a smile and a sort of heaviness that suggested the guess at exhaustion wasn't far off the mark. "Can I offer you anything? Tea, coffee...?"

"I'm fine, thank you." She had a peculiar way of talking, a little clipped, a little too fast like she thought she might be interrupted at any moment and wasn't about to allow it, even just saying simple things. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not certain I can tell you anything you haven't heard twenty times today on the television and radio already."

"Oh, I think you might be able to." Yvonne smiled, and leaned forward, fingers laced in front of her. "Our interests are a bit different from those of the Defence Ministry and the media."

Harriet looked up at the T stamped on the wall behind Yvonne, and then down to her desk, a few papers on official Torchwood letterhead. "Torchwood. I've never heard of you."

"Well, you wouldn't. What we do here is nothing the public need be aware of." They were usually happier if they didn't know anyway.

Harriet shifted in her chair a little. Not exactly uncomfortable - if Yvonne didn't know better, she might think it almost confrontational. "I'm certain I don't have the security clearance for this."

"With all due respect, Ms. Jones, you're the one person to get out of 10 Downing Street alive. Your security clearance tends to go up a bit after such things."

Harriet paused a moment, appearing not in the least unsettled by finding herself in such a position, back straight and chin lifted just the tiniest fraction, and finally she asked, "You'll be wanting to know about the aliens, then."

Yvonne smiled. Clever woman.

* * *

Going over the audio recording from her conversation with Harriet Jones, Yvonne couldn't decide whether to be exasperated or amused by the woman. Then, she supposed, there was no reason she couldn't manage both.

All the information she'd given her about the aliens had been useful, or at least xenobiology seemed very pleased when Yvonne handed the information off. Slitheen, Raxicoricofallapatorians, and Harriet hadn't even stumbled saying the word, which Yvonne found rather impressive, considering.

However, any attempts to get her to speak about the Doctor or his companion resulted in little more than flat refusal. Yvonne had finally become frustrated enough that she said, conversationally, "Ms. Jones, if you're not going to tell us _anything_... It is within this organisation's charter to detain and question individuals we believe to be associates of the Doctor."

Harriet hadn't so much as blinked. "You're not going to do that."

"And why not?"

"Well, I would hope that the fact that I am an elected official would give you pause, but if that isn't enough, there is the matter of the media. I was just on every news network with a camera or a microphone, and while I'm not at all familiar with that level of exposure... I would think that quite a few people might notice if I happened to be missing tomorrow. Now, if you don't mind, I have a feeling I have a long day ahead of me - I'd like to go home."

Yvonne had stared at her for a moment before answering. Usually, in conversations she had, Yvonne was the one to roll over all arguments without so much as a pause. "I'll have a car take you home."

The recording clicked off with a soft beep after that. Yvonne closed her computer and set it on the coffee table before leaning back on the couch, frowning to herself. This had not been Torchwood's finest hour, she had to admit. Anything that involved government buildings exploding tended not to qualify for that. And Harriet Jones, personal account of the aliens aside, was not improving matters.

She sighed, switched on the television, and flipped channels until she found a news network. The image on the screen was, predictably, Harriet Jones, from some conversation with reporters earlier in the day, still looking a little dusty and not at all shaken, every word so _earnest_ Yvonne couldn't help but be a little impressed by it. Yes, there had been aliens, and Downing Street had been blown up, but ordinary life went on, with day to day routines, work and sleep and cottage hospitals and... Not Yvonne's life - this _was_ her ordinary life - but for everyone else. For Harriet Jones.

She set the glass down, finally, and reached for her phone, hitting the first number on the speed dial. The phone clicked as someone picked up, and Yvonne started speaking before he could answer. "Marcus! I need you to call Harriet Jones - I'm sure you can find her number..."

* * *

"This seems an unorthodox place for a meeting," Harriet said, glancing around the restaurant. It seemed more an idle comment than any sort of real concern. Two days since the destruction of Downing Street, and while it was impossible to say that the media frenzy had died down it was, at least, but at least subdued enough that she could be seen in public without being mobbed with questions and cameras. After a moment, Harriet added, "Or an interrogation."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Yvonne said, and smirked a little. "I don't interrogate anyone." That was, generally speaking, a job she could leave to other people.

"I'm sure I answered all your questions before, and... well, I don't need to be rude, but I can't see what you might need to know that a simple phone call wouldn't have accomplished." Harriet wasn't annoyed. She didn't look like she would rather be somewhere else, she just wouldn't stop asking questions. Yvonne could deal with that - she may not give the answers Harriet wanted, but some answers wouldn't cost her anything.

"To be completely honest, Ms. Jones, this is my day off. They do happen sometimes, and I try to do something completely unrelated to work on those rare occasions."

Yvonne drummed her fingers on the table, still smirking faintly and studying Harriet's face for the slightest change of expression. She got it in a moment - Harriet had an expressive face, and it was easy to see the momentary surprise and confusion flickering over her face before the bemused smile settled in.

"And you enjoyed our conversation so much you decided to continue it on your free time? If I didn't know better, I'd say this sounded like a date."

Yvonne just smiled in response.


End file.
